


the great food fight of glass shard beach

by rosielibrary



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Food Fight, High School, hell yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosielibrary/pseuds/rosielibrary
Summary: i got an ask involving stan, ford, and a food fight, and i immediately said “hell yeah”. cause food fights. and stan and ford.(word of warning: this fic is from 2015 and unedited!)





	the great food fight of glass shard beach

High school was deemed the best days of your life by both your parents, your grandparents, and most of your friends. It’s a breeze, you have to admit, since you’re fairly popular and friendly, so people liked you, thankfully. You go out of your way to be nice to everyone that’s nice to you, and that’s earned you a reputation as everyone’s friend— unlike your… Boyfriend, commonly known as Crampelter. Only you and his mother know his first name, and you had to swear not to tell anyone. As if Sheldon was really that embarrassing. 

Regardless, you weren’t too fond of Crampelter. 

You were stuck with him after he’d asked you out after a lacrosse game, and since then, word spread around school that the two of you were an item. Everyone asked you how you’d landed the captain of the team, and you’d shrugged, afraid of actually answering. Now, of course, you’re branded with the title of Crampelter’s Main Squeeze, and you hate it. You hate him, even. Multiple attempts had been made to break up with him, but he scared you too much for you to get past the first few words. 

You decide to try again at the end of the week, since Homecoming was three weeks away. That gives both of you enough time to find different people and forget the other exists, right? Yeah, that sounds good. Hopefully. 

Lunch rolls around and you’re sitting at his side, staring down at your food as he talks (well, shouts) to his friends. You scoot a few inches away from him and pick at the brick of pizza on your tray, deciding you’ll eat when you get home. 

Two passerby catch your eye and you tilt your head up to see the Pines twins walking past your table. The louder one, Stanley, you think, catches your eye and you smile at him, and he looks surprised for a moment, but grins back at you. He elbows his brother in the side so he nervously waves back at you, and you glance to his famed six-fingered hand for a fleeting second before the two of them go to their table and sit down. 

You look to Crampelter, who’s got his friend in an armlock and inches from knocking his tray off the table, and you sneak away, shouldering your backpack and going across the lunchroom to where the twins sat, sitting across from them. 

Both boys have the same startled expression but Stanley speaks up first, asking “Won’t your boyfriend give you the third degree for sittin’ with us?“ 

"I don’t care,” you mutter, holding your head in your hands. “He’s– I don’t want to–" 

"I got it.” Stanley smiles at you reassuringly and you return it weakly, sitting up straighter. 

"Why– Why don’t you just break up with him?“ Stanford asks quietly, looking up from his book. 

"I’ve tried,” you say, sticking your straw into your carton of milk, “And it’s not gone well either time. I’m… I’m too scared to try again." 

Stanley’s expression is almost heartbroken and Stanford nervously reaches over and pats your shoulder. You swallow, quickly attempting to compose yourself, and Stanley hands you his napkin. 

"I bet you can do it,” Stanford says. “You just– you just gotta stand up for yourself, y'know?" 

"And I’ll beat him down if he doesn’t take no for an answer,” Stanley jokes, but the way he punches his other palm makes you wonder. Regardless, you start laughing and the twins grin at you, pleased they’d cheered you up. 

"Hey!“ That didn’t last long. Crampelter has noticed your absence and yells across the lunchroom at you, silencing nearly everyone in the close vicinity. You stand to meet him, and Stanley follows– Stanford ducks his head, gaze erratically flitting between you and Crampelter. 

"What are you doing with these losers?” Crampelter nods at the twins and your hands curl into fists. 

"They’re not losers,“ you protest. "They’re certainly a lot nicer than you have been lately." 

A general "ooo” from the crowd is silenced by his glare around the room. 

"Pfft. Babe, please. Why hang out with these two– the freak and his idiot brother– when you can–“ 

"I don’t want to anymore!" 

Your outburst stops him in his tracks, and he steps closer; you hunch, heart thudding against your ribs. Now you’ve done it. 

"What did you say?” Crampelter’s voice is quiet, but the lunchroom is silent now. You glance around for a teacher, the principal, anyone, but any adults have conveniently vacated the area. Damn it. 

"I–I said I don’t want to hang out with you anymore.“ Your statement is hushed and practically breathed into his chest, but he hears you just fine, judging by his fists clenching at his sides. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for what was to come next. He’d done it before. He’d do it again. 

Of course, he’s interrupted by a loud splat, and you feel something warm against your cheek. You open your eyes to see not only Crampelter’s hand just inches from your face, but a spoonful of mashed potatoes against Crampelter’s bowl-cut hair, dripping onto his wifebeater and his face, which doesn’t look any happier than before. Both of you turn to see the culprit, and Stanley Pines has a spoon positioned as a catapult between his fingers, his expression as stunned as yours to see what he’d done. 

"Leave them alone, Cramps,” Stanley mutters lowly, and you see the latter go to hit him, but you swipe up your carton of milk and throw the contents in his face, ducking away from his flying fists. The crowd roars with laughter, people near you applauding. 

Stanley smirks and stands on top of the table, raising his arms to the ceiling. 

“Food fight!" 

The yell that sparks a thousand missiles. 

Within seconds, someone throws another bomb of mashed potatoes at Stanley’s shirt, and you look up to see red, yellow, brown, and white foods flying through the air and landing in people’s faces, shirts, hair, and even legs. Stanford gets a shot of ketchup to the glasses, you duck as Stanley gets bombarded with peas, and a splat of something hard on the small of your back means someone threw some sort of meat at you. 

Stanley grins at the rebellion he started, holding out a hand to you. Crampelter’s shellshocked as milk drips down his nose, ignoring any and all food that hits him, and you decide to finish what you’d started. 

You take Stanford’s food– a bowl of tomato soup, crimson red– and flick a handful of it onto his already stained white wifebeater, staring up at him with a steely look in your eye. 

"Stay away from those twins, Sheldon,” you mutter, and Stanley’s jaw almost unhinges from shock. “And you’re not going to homecoming with me." 

Crampelter– Sheldon, rather– blushes scarlet beneath the milk on his face, and you curl your fingers around Stanley’s and step onto and across the table, grabbing Stanford’s arm and running away from the mess, ducking into a hallway and falling against each other with giggles. 

"The look on his face!” Stanley snorts, shaking his head. “Sheldon, I can’t believe it! And I though our names were weird, Ford." 

He turns to you with an excited smile, one you easily copy. "You’re really somethin’. Oh, you got– Yeesh." 

He peels the mystery meat from your back and throws it into a nearby trash can. 

"Yeah, like you two aren’t just as bad,” you retort, looking both of them up and down. Stanley has various stains dotting his white t-shirt, and a mound of mashed potatoes in his hair, which you quickly brush off. Stanford’s less covered than the two of you, his glasses smeared with ketchup and peas stuck in his messy brown curls. 

"All war wounds,“ Stanley says proudly, brushing his hands down his jeans. "We did good work here today." 

"The lunchroom would say otherwise,” says a more formal voice from behind Stanford, and both you and Stanley freeze, eyes wide. 

“I believe the principal would like to talk to you three." 

You and the twins get off the hook once you explained the situation, but you still have to clean the battlefield of a lunchroom after school. Since Stanford didn’t throw any punches his brother gets the ordeal swiped off his record, so you’re left with just one twin to make the cafeteria spotless, which took you both three hours. 

The experience wasn’t too bad, however– he ends up taking you to homecoming instead, with Ford in tow, of course. In their matching pink and blue suits, you manage to coordinate somehow with both of them and you’re regarded as heroes by your classmates, sans Crampelter, who doesn’t go to the dance or anywhere near you after the food fight. Stanley twirls you around the dance floor for hours and you find yourself tucked into his chest during a slow song, his arm around your waist while yours rests at the back of his neck. 

The whole thing’s a little too corny for your tastes. No food-fight-related pun intended.


End file.
